Hey guys! Hope you all had a great christmas like me and are up for another chapter!
Thanks everyone for the reviews! Don´t worry, the nerds have been sent home for good.
And as to Pinky-Kid - *wnuddel* - no electric shocks in here (What a shame, huh? What are fences there for?! Grin!), but peeking under scrubs just for you. Let´s discuss the technique later ... By the way: New caaaaaaaaaaaapter!!!! "I owe you that" vor!!! Check it out, alla you who haven´t, yet. It´s a must-read
Disclaimers still the same.
Enjoy!
Noise. There was definitely some noise going on around him, dragging him out of the blessfull darkness. A soft moan it was, he mused, but was interrupted in his lines of thought by his own need to verbalize his state.
"Ow!"
Along with the sudden light, which crawled through his still closed lids into his very skin, where it started to itch and throb, came a dull pain in his head. It felt as though someone had left a brick on his skull, and now it had somehow slipped inside. Lifting a very shaky hand to the back of his head, Jesse found a large bump there and winced as he probed it carefully.
"Ow."
Only now he slowly opened his eyes, but squeezed them shut again instantly. It wasn´t only the uninvited brightness that hurt, but also the - though somewhat blurred, yet unmistakable - sight of his surroundings. Next to an ashccan he lay, his feet were soaked by now after having layed in something wet for so long, and he could feel the cold of the hard concrete crawl into his body, cramping a skinny, freezing hand in his stomach. Carefully he lifted his cheek off the ground, and even managed to move so much as to sit upright, leaning against the wall for support. His breath came out in harsh, short gasps of pain by then, due not only to the increasing pain in his head, but also the stabbing sensation in his ribs and stomach.
Remembering what had happened to those, he slowly let his gaze wander down to his damaged shirt, not really wanting to look underneath it, but knowing he had to. He was pretty sure none of the pains that swept though his whole upper body were caused by a broken, but only by bruised ribs, yet he couldn´t trust his judgement right now.
So after drawing in a few more steadying breaths, he reached out to lift his shirt, grimacing as the whole damage that had been done to the poor textile revealed itself to him. It was torn at more than one place and had a few red strains on it, where his blood had soaked through the material.
What a shame he was alone, he mused. Now of all times he could have made the "Aww, that was my favourite shirt!"-comment. But as no one would have heard it, he didn´t waste the breath for it and continued his task, yelping out softly when he accidentally brushed his left hand.
It was swollen almost anywhere it could, and though none of the fingers were broken, they were severely bruised, the range of colors covering everything available, from sickly green to angry red.
Wincing as he gingerly cradled it next to his shoulder, he continued to open his shirt with his good hand. The sight that greeted him down on his chest and abdomen was commented by a sharp gasp.
"Oh great!"
Just from the bare look of the muttled bruises and red spots he could feel the pain he had to expect. Reluctantly, he touched his skin, flinching from his own touch.
"Ow! Double-ow!!!"
The ows became even more once he brought himself to continue his exermination. Fortunately his first diagnosis had been right, there was nothing broken or cracked. Still, when he was done, he could feel a slight shade of sweat dry on his forehead from the pain. Leaning his head back against the wall, he was about to just close his eyes again, to blend out the dull throbbing in his head, the hot pain in his ribs and most of all the by now increasing sensation of aching tightness in his left hand. The skin on it became drawn due to the swelling, and it hurt considerably.
He was almost asleep again, when he suddenly noticed that the moaning he´d heard for some time by now wasn´t produced by himself. Opening his eyes in surprise, he looked around the alley for the first time since he´d woken up. Now that he was looking for it, it didn´t take him long to spot the other figure huddled against the opposite wall, not far away from where he lay.
Frowning, he bent a little forward. "Hey?" he asked softly. It hurt him to speak, so he wasn´t very pleased when he got no response from the other man.
"Hey, you okay?" he tried again, feeling his doctor-mode kicking in slowly, but surely. Using his good hand, he tried to steady himself at the wall and crawled to his feet.
Once more the stranger failed to answer. Jesse could see him move slightly, though. The first step towards the obviously injured man sent a wave of pain through his sore ribcage, and gasping in pain, he almost lost his balance. For a brief moment he closed his eyes and just concentrated on his breathing, then he once again placed one foot in front of the other, so that he reached the fallen figure eventually.
"It´s okay," he assured his patient gently, before he touched his shoulder carefully. "I´m a doctor. Just lay ... still," he finished, shocked when he saw the face of the man. Raymond Liotta´s boyish features were contorted in pain, his chocolate eyes, though half-open, didn´t seem to see a thing, but looked inwards at the pain he was in.
His slender figure moved slightly, as if he tried to flee his own body which had become a prison of torture to him. Beads of sweat ran down his forehead, though he felt alarmingly cold to the touch.
Now remembering that it had been Liotta´s gun wound that had brought him into this mess in the first place, Jesse quickly checked the man´s shoulder, trying to rouse him during the examination, but without success.
The bullet had gone straight through Liotta´s shoulder, dried blood sticked to his shirt and jacket. It looked serious, but not life-threatening. Looking further, Jesse inadvertently brushed against the man´s side, earning a loud moan for that. Frowning, the doctor carefully shoved the jacket aside. The textile on the inside felt damp, and now that he had a good look at Liotta´s left side, Jesse knew why. Liotta´s shirt was blood-soaked, his whole side seemed to have turned into a sea of blood.
"Mr. Liotta," Jesse tried to announce the man, while he opened the remains of the shirt in order to get a better look at the wound. There was no answer except for some groans due to the pain the doctor was causing with his hands softly probing the injured area.
"Raymond," Jesse said a little louder, when he saw that his patient´s eyes had closed, but it was of no use.
Sighing, the young doctor decided to let it be for the moment and concentrated on the problem at hand. Checking the injury, he found that the bullet hadn´t left the body.
"Crabs!" Jesse murmured. Running a bloodied hand through his hair, he desperately tried to figure out what to do, which proved to be difficult with his own head still swimming in pain.
At last he decided that there was no way he could leave the injured man alone in the alley while he got help, for he would most certainly be too slow in his momentary condition. That bullet needed to come out now. The only solution was to get Liotta into the practice and remove it there.
And there was the next problem, Jesse thought frustratedly. He couldn´t possibly carry the man inside, not with his ribs feeling the way they did and his hand turning from blue to green in a visible speed. Besides, Liotta was twice his size and weight. There was no one in the practice who could have helped him, either, Jesse found as he checked his watch desperately. His shift wouldn´t be over for another two hours.
Looking at Liotta, who´d become very still by now, Jesse finally sighed deeply and gently slapped the man´s cheeks in order to rouse him.
"Hey!" he called. "Wake up! Ray! You gotta wake up now! C´mon!"
It took him a lot more of yelling and slapping, but finally Liotta´s lids were lifted agonisingly slowly, revealing glazed brown pupils. Unable to focus, he stared at the doctor confusedly.
"Yeah!" Jesse encouraged him. "That´s the way, good. Can you hear me?"
Cracking his eyes open just a little more, Liotta nodded weakly. He made a weary attempt at asking where he was, but found his tongue was too heavy for this simple task.
"You´re in the alley next to Dr. Donahue´s practice," Jesse explained clearly. "You´ve been shot. We´ve to get you inside so that I can help you."
At the questioning glance he received, Jesse added: "I´m Dr. Jesse Travis, I work for you. D´you recognize me?"
Liotta shook his head ever so slightly.
"I´m a doctor," Jesse repeated. "I´m gonna help you. But you´ve to help me here, too. D´you think you can stand?"
Liotta nodded and tried to push himself off the ground, but cried out in pain almost instantly and fell back onto his back. Shaking his head, he closed his eyes once more.
"This wasn´t exactly a question," Jesse said and grabbed the man´s good arm. "If you wanna live, you´ll give it another try. C´mon."
Though confused and in pain, Liotta understood the doctor´s words, and so he lifted his upper body off the ground once more, wincing at the slight movement. Jesse placed a steadying hand on Liotta´s back, and together they managed to get to their feet, both swaying slightly, but ready to go.
It took them a little while to reach and enter the practice; by the time they were finally inside, Jesse was panting heavily. Liotta was only semi-conscious, when he was led to the operating room and gently layed on the stretcher there. His eyes were once more closed and his breathing shallow. His color of face matched the walls.
Wiping the sweat from his face, Jesse sagged against the door of the room for a short moment. His vision was blurred, and he found it hard to draw in breath against the hot pain radiating from his chest and abdomen. But he couldn´t allow his weaknes to get the better part of him now. A patient needed him.
Ignoring the pain as best as he could, he pushed himself off the wall and crossed the room to the stretcher. Liotta had lost consciousness again. After removing the man´s shirt and jacket, the doctor once more checked the wound. Fortunately the bullet didn´t stick in the flesh very deeply, but still Liotta had lost an alarming amount of blood. There was no telling if he´d survive the removal.
At least he had approbiate instruments, Jesse thought thankfully, and turned to prepare for the procedure. When he was ready and about to start the sedation, Liotta´s eyes flickered open.
"Wh-who´s there?" he whispered horasely.
"Jesse Travis," Jesse answered. "I found you outside the practice. You have a shot wound to your left side, and the bullet´s still inside. I´ve to remove it."
"Jesse Travis," Liotta said, frowning. "You´re the new kid."
"That´s right. But I really have to ..."
"Y-you´re any good?" the man asked through gritted teeth.
"I let you be the judge of that," Jesse replied gently. "And now jus..."
"Am I ... gonna make it?"
"Sure," Jesse answered quickly and smiled.
"Kid," Liotta said firmly, before Jesse could say any more, "don´t take me for a fool! Am I gon..." A sharp gasp of pain interrupted his question.
"You have a good chance of surviving," Jesse said honestly, "if you let me start now. So ..."
"I ... I´ve to tell you some...something," Liotta insisted. He´d closed his eyes against the burning sensation in his side. Sweat ran down his face.
Jesse frowned at the demand, but he was too much doctor to let his curiosity take over in a situation like this. "You can tell me lat..."
"No!" his patient yelled. He looked more a boy than ever, all the cruelty seemed to have been washed away by the pain. "No," he repeated almost beggingly. "I´ve to tell someone. I can´t die without ... anyone ... knowing ..."
"You´re not gonna die," Jesse assured, but saw that it was of no use to try to convince the man of letting him start now. Obviously something was bothering Liotta, something so horrible he couldn´t bear the thought of dying without confessing it to someone. And what could that dark secret be, but murder, Jesse mused with a mixture of anger and fear.
Surprised, he noticed he was afraid of Liotta admitting Carlie´s murder to him. There he was, the faithful doctor, Mark Sloan´s protégé, supposed to safe the man who´d murdered an innocent woman, brought pain to his best friend, who was responsible for hundreds of illegal operations, who´d ruined an uncountable number of lifes and futures.
Yet, at the moment, he was Jesse´s patient. A wounded man in the need of help the younger man was bound to give. But the moment he admitted the murders ... How could he safe him now, Jesse thought desperately. How could he let him live when Carlie had had to die?
"Relax, I´m gonna sedate you now," Jesse said tonelessly, but was stopped by a weak hand feebly grabbing his damaged one. He flinched from the pain and whirled to face Liotta. Surprised, he saw tears in the older man´s eyes.
"No, doc, please, I ..." He sighed deeply, if out of pain or emotion, Jesse couldn´t tell. "I am responsible for a murder and a suicide."
Silence. Absolute silence hit the room. Jesse felt numb all of a sudden, all feeling had left his body. "Sui...suicide?" he repeated in a mere whisper.
"She ... she was my girl-friend," Liotta continued. He hadn´t noticed the doctor´s dismay, but was lost in painfull memories. "We ... wanted to marry, but ... Her mother died. A few years ago. Shot. She was told it had been a robbery, a junky," he laughed softly, "but I ... I knew the truth."
He made a short pause in order to regain some strength. Sad eyes scanned an imaginary spot on the wall behind Jesse, were the past lay. "Her mother had betrayed her father. I-it was shotly before we opend this practice, her father and ... and me. I ... knew him pretty good. She´d stolen his money for this other guy, her mother," he continued, sounding almost as if surprised, as if realizing just now what had happened back then. "Stole from him. Betrayed him. Wh-when he found out ..."
Jesse´s eyes widened as another pause occured. Steve never had mentioned Carlie´s mother. But then it never had seemed important.
A single tear cascaded Liotta´s cheek as he went on: "He killed her. R-right there, in their house. Shot her. A-and," he said with bright eyes, a humorless grin spreading over his lips, "he let the girl find the body. That bastard." Glancing at the doctor for the first time since he´d started telling, Liotta weakly wiped away the strains of tears on his face. "I never told her," he said ernestly. "She shouldn´t know, I figured. B-but ... Oh god." He drew in a calming breath.
Jesse wondered if it was wise to let him continue. The speaking was taking strength from the body, which it didn´t have to give. Yet, he needed to know what had happened. Impatiently, he kept on listening.
"W-we broke up then. I left town. But I never ... never stopped loving ..." Once more Liotta´s gaze had drifted off to a place unseen by the doctor. As the memories revealed themselfes, though, he was drawn back to reality and cleared his throat horasely. "When I returned I heard she had someone new."
The statemant was given ice-coldly. The doctor didn´t even try to hide his dismay, Liotta didn´t notice it, anyway.
"I got angry. Naturally I got angry. And so I ..." His voice failed him, his gaze fell in remorse.
"You told her," Jesse said slowly. "You told her that her father had shot her mother. And Carlie ..."
"Why did I do it?" Liotta asked the air. His eyes seemed to have lost their color. Jesse could have sworn he saw wrinkles built in the soft flesh beneath them. A broken man lay before him, now closing his eyes, if out of exhaustion, pain or resignation, the doctor couldn´t tell.
Nevertheless, he had to know for sure. "She killed her father? - Raymond!" Forgetting about the urgency of the medical procedure he was about to perform, Jesse ruttled his patient roughly, causing him to wince in pain. He didn´t care. "Hey! You gotta tell me! Did ..."
"What have I done?" the anguished man whispered. Jesse felt his hands flinch away, when he spoke. The numbness from earlier had left his body by now, his heart was racing. He felt as if he´d taken another one of Donahue´s pills. His aching ribs tightened his lungs, and he could hear himself pant.
Liotta´s eyes had opened again. A glassy gaze was put upon the doctor. Strains of tears dried on the boyish cheeks. "Help me, doc," he whispered desperately, then closed his eyes again.
Jesse stared at him in dismay. He opened his mouth to utter some assuring words, but none came to his mind. His gaze wandered down to the syringe in his hands, and pushing every other thought aside, he started his task of saving Raymond Liotta´s life. There was nohing more he could do.
Dr. Donahue´s cheery whistling echoed through the rooms of his practice. He took off his coat, checked his office for calls, and then turned to the rooms of the unreal world, those two he felt he wasn´t actually having anything to do with. Raymond´s rooms.
And Raymond it was who he spotted now that he´d opened the first door. A small gasp of shock escaped his lips, when he saw his old friend lay on the bed in recovery, his chest and shoulder heavily bandaged, his color of face matching his pillow.
Next to him, on a chair, sat the small form of the new kid, Donahue had forgotten his name. He was sound asleep, too, and stepping closer, Donahue could now see that the kid could use some bandaging himself. He had a nasty gash right above his left eye, blood had dried on his young features, and the way he hold his arm protectively over his ribs was enough for any doctor to assume that there were more nasty-looking things under his torn and bloodied shirt, too.
"What the hell ..." the older man muttered in dismay. He quickly checked his friend´s vital signs and sighed in relief when he found him just asleep, not unconscious. He then turned to the young man in the chair and reached out to ruttle him gently.
The moment his fingers had touched the younger man´s shoulder, blue confused eyes snapped open and in a paniced attempt to get away from the hand touching him, he fell off the chair, groaning loudly when his already sore ribs connected with the ground.
Donahue had drawn his hands away fastly. "Easy, kiddo!" he said quickly, raising his hands as if to show he wasn´t armed. "`sjust me."
Jesse stared at him in confusion, before his gaze wandered over to the sleeping figure on the bed. Remembering where he was now, he slowly came to his feet, wincing at the protests of his ribs and head. A shaky hand was lifted to rub his eyes, and Jesse frowned, when he felt the shade of dampness on his face.
"You´re bleeding," Donahue filled him in, noticing the doctor´s startled surprise at the discovery. "Why don´t you sit down again and tell me what the hell happened, while I take a look at you, hm?"
A simple nod was all he got for a response. Sitting down in the chair again, Jesse suddenly yelped and drew his left hand to his chest, covering it with the other one.
"What´s wrong with your hand?" Donahue asked. "Here, let me see."
Reluctantly, Jesse outstretched his hand, revealing the by now deep black bruise that spread over the whole of his knuckles and most of his fingers. The older doctor winced in sympathy.
"What happened?"
"Someone stepped on it," Jesse replied casually. "D´you checked on him?" he added with a nod to Liotta.
"Yes, he´s sleeping. Wha..."
"He got shot," Jesse explained. "Twice. I had to remove a bullet from his side, but I think he´ll make it. You sure he´s conscious?"
Nodding assuringly, Donahue asked further: "Shot by whom? And who worked you over like that?!"
"Dunno. Few guys. I think it were three. I don´t know," he repeated at Donahue´s unsatisfied look. "I saw them when I arrived. Outside. They´d already shot him in the shoulder, and I tried to ..." He had to stop suddenly, when a wave of pain shot through his head. Moaning, he lifted his hand to his eyes to squeeze them shut.
"Maybe you should lay down, too," Donahue suggested. "You probably have a concussion."
"No," Jesse objected softly. "No, I ... I´ve to return to work. What time is it, anyway?"
"Half past seven."
"Oh crabs," the younger doctor sighed and stood, swaying slightly. "Gotta go. You keep a look on him?"
"Yeah, sure, but - hey," Donahue grabbed his arm gently, but still caused pain by touching a bruised area. He didn´t notice the younger man´s wince, though. "Kid, wait. You need some proper attention here. I think those ribs of yours should better be taped or stuff. And this," he added pointing at Jesse´s forehead, "definitely needs some stitching."
"No, I´m fine really," Jesse said as convincing as a run-over rabbit. "Just give me a Band-Aid for it, `kay?"
Raising his hands to show he was giving up (After all, what did he care?) Donahue smiled friendly and turned to bring a Band-Aid, suggesting casually: "Still, it might be better if you washed the blood off your face, doc. You don´t want your patients run away screaming, do you?"
At Jesse´s questioning look, he pointed towards the sink. "C´mon. You look like Dougie Howser met Freddy Krueger."
Stepping over to the sink, Jesse noticed for the first time that he was not only limping slightly, but also looking like he´d been beaten up in an alley, too.
"Great," he muttered under his breath, while he carefully splashed water into his sore face. "Just great."
What was he going to tell Mark? He had to come up with something. Something good, like ...
"Surfing accident."
"Surfing accident?" the nurse at the registration repeated with a wince of sympathy. "Ow. What d´you do, lie face down on the board?"
"Something like that," he smiled and continued his way down the hall. So far so good. He´d only met three people at this time, and only one of them had asked about his battered face. His injured hand he kept hidden in his coat-pockets, which hurt considerably, for he had to clench his hurting fingers that way. He just hoped he didn´t meet one of the Sloans or Amanda today. He surely didn´t feel up to face their worried and most certainly doubting expressions just now. Tomorrow, after a few hours of sleep, lying would be so much easier.
But Murphy´s Law didn´t let him off the hook.
"Jess!"
Acually flinching at the sudden call behind his back, the young doctor froze in mid-step, cursing his slowness, Mark´s ability to appear in situations when he was less wanted to appear, and his body panicing at the task which lay before him. Drawing in a deep breath as to brace him for the unbracable, he turned slowly, managing to smile wryly, while his friends - Oh great, Mark AND Steve! Could things possibly go any better?! - approached him with concern quickly reaching their eyes.
"Wow, whatever happened to you?" Steve asked, shocked, once they were standing next to him.
Okay, here we go, Jesse thought dryly. "Sur... Ahm, surfing accident." Kicking his butt inwardly, he fought the urge to squeeze his eyes shut in frustration. And the winner is ... someone else, a nasty voice in his head informed him.
"Surfing accident," Mark repeated. He could have said "You´re lying." straight to his face, without having to change the tone of his voice.
Still, Jesse wasn´t going to give up. Not yet. "Yeah. I ... uh ..."
"Fell off the board?" Steve suggested in the same tone his father had used.
Feeling even smaller than usual, Jesse forced himself to look up to the two Sloans towering above him. "No, a wave hit me, and then my board was thrown ..."
"Since when d´you go surfing in the evening?" Steve interrupted him impatiently. He obviously wasn´t up to believe whatever was told him today.
"Ahm, I just ... The waves were just that great today, so I couldn´t resist. And I really gotta see a patient now," he added without taking a breath between the sentences. Raising both of his hands to a feeble, nervous gesture, he stated: "I´m already very late. So if you´ll excuse me."
With that he turned.
"That´s quite a bruise you have on your hand there," Mark´s voice hold him back, though.
"Yeah, I ... uh ... I ... squashed my finger in a door. Not my day, huh? Well, see ya!" Having spotted the lift doors opening at the end of the hall, Jesse broke into a sprint. As he smiled unconvincingly assuringly at his friends, the doors closed, covering the image of him sagging against the wall wearily.
Steve and Mark stood where Jesse had left them, staring at the lift. Finally, Steve opened his mouth, but was stopped from saying anything, by his father´s hand quickly raising in front of him.
"Don´t. Say it," Mark ordered firmly. "Just don´t." Without waiting for his son´s reaction, he continued his way.
"Whatever you say, dad," Steve mumbled and followed him.
"What am I gonna do? What am I gonna DO?!"
Pacing the men´s room in the sixth floor, where most certainly no cop would suddenly burst into and force him to admit he was in deep trouble this time, Jesse repeated the question over and over again, as if waiting for the sinks to come up with a solution eventually.
"What am I gonna do?!"
Should he - COULD he - tell Steve the truth? He had to tell Leer. Liotta was innocent. Of course what with Jesse´s inside-information about the practice and all, the man would go down for dealing with human organs, but he was no murderer. Actually, he was just a poor bastard, whose life was ruined by guilt and remorse. Jesse couldn´t help feeling sympathy for him, even after all he´d seen in the practice.
Yet - he couln´t tell Steve, could he? What would the lieutenant do, if he knew it? The image of Steve´s face at "Bob´s" the night Jesse had told him about Carlie, swept through the doctor´s mind. Could he really bear to see it once more? Could he bear to bring pain to his friend again? Pain that would last, that would ...
Stopping in mid-step, Jesse suddenly found he didn´t even know how Steve was doing. It had been - how long since he last took a good look at him? He couldn´t remember. He´d been so involved in the undercover-thing that he hadn´t had the time to really pay attention, to really look.
"Oh damnit!" he cursed, hitting his fist against his right palm. The sound of his yelp fading in the room reminded him of not doing that for quite some time. Gently rubbing his sore knuckles, he sighed. What a mess this was! How could he ever get out of it again? Leer´s fault, he decided. It was all Leer´s fault. If he hadn´t convinced Jesse to join this stupid assignment, none of this ever would haver happened. He´d been there to actually help Steve instead of hiding behind the false idea of helping. What had he gotten out of the whole thing, anyway?! Bruised ribs and a concussion.
Leaning heavily against the wall, he closed his eyes. The pain in his ribs had increased over the pacing, and by now he found it hard to breathe. His head still hurt, too, as if someone knocked against the inside of his brain. Probably his bad conscience, he mused.
Only semi-aware he noticed himself sliding down to the ground slowly, till he sat against the wall. From there it only was a matter of time till he sank to one side, asleep before his head touched the ground.
"At least admit you don´t believe him," Steve said firmly, while following Mark out of the lift. The total silence he´d experienced in there had left him sort of unnerved, till he was on the edge of yelling at his innocent father out of the need to yell at someone.
"Steve," Mark replied dryly, "what sort of a question is that?!" He, too, felt frustrated and therefore cranky, but regretted his harsh tone the second he´d used it. "Sorry. Of course I don´t believe him. Something´s going on here, and I don´t think it´s about waves."
"Neither do I," Steve nodded and frowned when looking around as if for the first time. "What are we doing here, by the way?" He´d been so wrapped up with concern an unfocused anger, that he´d just followed his dad wherever he would lead him.
"Trying to get some answers," Mark answered and opened the door to the men´s room, sighing deeply at the expected sight in there. At the far end of a wall Jesse lay on the ground, curled to a ball like he always was when asleep. His injured hand lay outstretched next to his body as if placed out of the way to not get hurt further. Even in sleep his features were drawn to a painfilled grimace.
Coming to a halt beside his father, Steve watched his small friend in dismay. Following Mark´s example, he sighed deeply, then looked at his dad to ask: "How did you know that?"
"You can´t get any farer away from the ER," was the sad reply.
"Or from us," Steve added.
Not answering to that, Mark crossed the space to the sleeping doctor and crouched down beside him.
Listening to Jesse´s breathing for a moment, he frowned slightly, and then carefully as not to rouse the young man, shoved the blue scrubs upwards a little, revealing a large black bruise, which melted into another one reaching up his chest even more. Mark couldn´t help let out a small gasp of shock when he saw the angry red spots in the discolored flesh. When he reached out to ever so gently touch the hurt ribcage, Jesse moaned softly and flinched away from the hand slightly.
"Dad?" Steve asked from where he was still standing.
"Come over here, son," Mark ordered quietly, and shifted his position for Steve to see Jesse´s chest, when he stopped next to his father.
"Dad, please tell me we´re not peeking under Jesse´s scrubs," the lieutenant joked half-heartedly.
Grimacing, Mark looked up at Steve, who winced at what he saw. "Be aware of surfboards, they might kick you."
"Oh god, what´s going on here?!"
"I don´t know, Steve, but this," Mark said and pointed at the younger man´s ribcage, "definitely has the form of a boot rather than a board. And that," he added, letting go off Jesse´s shirt and turning to his outstretched hand on the ground, "too."
As if to underline his words, he stood, raising a foot to let it hover above the bruise on Jesse´s hand.
"Someone beat him up," Steve stated. "But who? And why?" As a short pause occured, he frowned at his father, who still looked at the sleeping young man on the ground. "D´you think it has something to do with drugs?"
"Maybe. But all I know for sure is that he´s in deep trouble this time. And I´m tired of being lied at," he added firmly.
Steve cast his father a sympathetic glance. He knew how much Mark cared for his young protégé. Normally Jesse would turn to him without hesitation when he was in trouble. Steve couldn´t recall Jesse ever having lied to one of them, they were like his family. The thought that he was hiding something from them, something that left him beaten to a heap on the floor of the men´s room, seemed almost absurd.
"Shall we wake him?" he finally asked, but Mark shook his head.
"No, he would only get mad at us."
"Then what shall we do? - We are going to do something, right?"
"Course. But we´ll wait for the right moment," Mark replied.
"And when that will be?"
"You´ll see."
"What do you have to do in this place to be served?!"
"Stop yelling like an idiot, for example," Jesse muttered under his breath, while he hurried to place the dirty dishes he was carrying somewhere out of the way to the grumpy customer, who was sitting there for five minutes now. "Sorry, sir," Jesse apologized as convincingly as he could with the burning sensation in his ribcage and lungs. "So what can I do for you?"
"Hurry up would be nice," the man commented. "I didn´t inted to spent the whole day here."
"I´m glad to hear that," Jesse replied dryly and froze when he noticed he´d said out loud what had been supposed to be a mere thought.
"Hey, listen, kid," the man growled, "there are other places like this, `kay? I dont have to ..."
"No, right, you don´t. And you know what? My head hurts, and so does my hand, and actually I´m not really up to jumping at some fruitcake´s orders today, so why don´t you take your f..."
"Is there a problem here?" he was suddenly interrupted by a quiet, casual voice behind him and turned to face Detective Grady Leer eyeing him with awe.
"No, detective," Jesse replied cooly. "Everything´s shiny here. This gentleman just wanted to leave. Right?" he asked the man.
"You bet!" the customer stated furiously. "And don´t count on me ever coming here again!"
"Sorry to hear that," Jesse murmured while watching the man rushing out of the restaurant. Then he turned to cross the floor to the bar, from where he still had to remove the dirty dishes.
"Well?" Leer asked, sitting down at the bar. "What´s the urgency? - Jesse," he said when receiving no answer, but the sight of Jesse´s back turned to him, as the doctor brought away the dishes. "Hey! You wanted to see me, so ..."
"And you wanted to hurry up!" Jesse interrupted him harshly as he turned back to the bar. "I called you hours ago!"
Actually he´d called Leer after having waken up shivering and aching all over in the men´s room. Though he was more than greatfull that obviously nobody in the hospital had noticed his little nap at so unapprobiate a place, the feeling of desperation had increased inside him ever since. Now that his pain had decreased to a dull ever-present throbbing and numbness, he could pay all his attention to the problem at hand. A decision had to be made.
He decided to blame Leer.
But the detective hadn´t been in the precinct anymore that late in the night, so Jesse had repeated the call the next morning, before his shift at "Bob´s" had started. Three hours had gone by since then.
"I did!" the detective defended himself. "But I can´t just leave everything at every call of yours. I´ve a job to do, y´know."
"Oh? I thought I was doing your job."
A short pause occured. Leer narrowed his eyes and placed his chin on his palm. "What happened to your face?"
"Liotta didn´t kill Carlie Vitense," Jesse replied instead of an answer.
Leer remained silent, just continued to look at the younger man.
"But you know that already," Jesse continued "don´t you? You knew it all along." His voice had risen a little due to the anger he felt at the man, but he quickly regained his self-control.
"Yes," Leer said.
"Yes?! That all?! Just yes?! I risked my life for ... What do you want from the man? Huh? What is it you really wanna frame him for?"
"I never would have gotten the permission for the undercover go, if Liotta´s file hadn´t had "murder" on the cover!" Leer explained agitatedly. "And you saw what they do in this practice, they ..."
"You told Steve Liotta killed Carlie! You know what it will do to him to find out about her suicide?! About her murder?! God, I can´t believe I did this!"
"I didn´t inted to tell Steve," Leer said casually.
The doctor froze in motion. "He´ll read about the trial, and then he´ll know."
"Why?"
"Because ... No. No! Y-you don´t. Grady, this man didn´t kill anyone! He wouldn´t be my vote for president and I sure as hell hope he goes to jail for what he did to those people, but he´s no murderer! I won´t let you sent someone to the stuhl who´s innocent."
"Really?!" Leer asked with an amused smile spreading rapidly on his lips. "And what´re you gonna do about it?"
Jesse stared at the man in disbelief. "Are you nuts?! You´re planning to accuse an innocent man of murder! D´you really think I´ll just sit back and let you do that? I know the truth, and I will tell it!"
"Yeah," Leer shrugged. "You do that. And who do you figure will believe you? Huh?"
Slowly, but surely, Jesse felt himself lose his ground. Eyeing the detective suspiciously, he asked: "W-why wouldn´t they believe me?"
Leer laughed lowly. "Jess, c´mon. Believe you? An addict who worked for Liotta for what now, two weeks?" He chuckled slightly, while placing his chin in both palms now. "Would you believe you? After you lied to your friends? D´you really think Sloan hasn´t noticed anything, yet? Oh Jess," he added with another short laugh and stood to leave, "you´ll continue this thing till I say it´s over, an you´ll tell the judge whatever I want you to say or you will go down all the way with your boss."
Jesse couldn´t believe what he was hearing. His whole body had gone numb. Staring at Leer in utter shock, he shook his head slowly. "I won´t do it."
"That´s what you said last time," Leer grinned. " `sides, you really wanna be the one to tell Sloan?"
"Why are you doing this? What did Liotta do to you?"
Leer looked at him silently for a few moments, than grinned wryly, lifting a hand to wink. "Consider yourself still a member of the team, Dr. Travis. I´ll call you."
Jesse looked after the detective as the door fell closed behind him.
"Oh god, what have I gotten myself into?!" he muttered desperately, covering his face with his hands.
"Who was that?" Mark asked as Steve put away his cell phone and entered the Doctor´s Lounge again after having stepped outside for the call.
"Grady Leer," Steve answered, a grim expression on his face. "Liotta´s been shot yesterday. He´s at Donahue´s practice at the moment, so the investigations will have to stop for some time now. Damn!" he muttered frustratedly, as he sank down on the sofa next to Amanda who reached out to comfortingly stroke his arm.
"Who´s Donahue?" Mark asked. "I think I know that name."
"He´s the doctor who owns the practice they do their ... operations in," Steve replied disgustedly. "Of course he hasn´t reported the gun wound, but Leer´s guy informed him. This will make things take a whole lot longer."
"I´m sorry, Steve," Amanda said gently. "I know how much this investigation means to you. D´you regret it that you´re not on the case?"
"No," Steve winked. "Grady´s a good cop, and it´s not his fault the guy got shot. It´s just that ..."
He stopped in mid-sentence when he suddenly noticed the small form of his best friend leave the lift and head straight for the Lounge, where he´d spotted his friends.
"Hey!" he greeted them a little out of breath. "I gotta talk to you."
Exchanging looks with his son, Mark rouse to his feet, closing the door behind Jesse. "That´s good, ´cause we need to talk to you, too," he said ernestly.
Jesse felt his features freeze to a shocked expression. "What?" he asked in a chocked whisper. "Wh-what d´you mean?"
"Surfing accident?" Mark asked, reaching out for Jesse´s injured hand.
Though he flinched at the sudden touch, the young doctor remained calm. "You´re right, I lied at you, I was ..."
"We know," Steve interrupted him firmly. "We saw your other injuries last night. In the men´s room."
Jesse´s eyes grew wide at the revelation. A dreadfull feeling formed a tight knot in his throat. "Really?" he asked dryly. "Wow, you should think your friends wouldn´t let you spent the night on the floor, huh?"
"We know about the drugs, too," Mark said, letting go off Jesse´s hand to take a few steps backwards, so that he was standing next to Steve and Amanda now.
Looking at the wall of stern looks in front of him, Jesse narrowed his eyes. "What´s this supposed to be? An interrogation? What d´you guys want from me?!"
"The truth," Steve replied.
Casting him a long look, Jesse smiled humorlessly. "Believe me, you don´t want the thruth."
Frowning at the unexpected answer, Steve opened his mouth, but was interrupted by Amanda, who said in the gentliest of her voices: "Jesse, we´re just worried about you."
"Yes," Mark agreed. "We only want to help you. We´re your friends."
"I know!" Jesse shot back desperately. Bowing his head, he searched for the right words. "But it´s not that easy. It´s ... I can´t ..."
"Damnit, Jess!" Steve yelled at him all of a sudden. Jesse´s head snapped up surprisedly. "Cut out this crab! Just tell us what´s going on with you! I only recently lost someone close to me, if you remember, and I´m not that eager to have this experience repeated, `kay?! You understand? So what is it?! Is it about drugs?"
A small frown built on Jesse´s forehead, crawled over it and settled in his eyes. "Y-you think I ..."
"All of a sudden you´re too busy to show up at "Bob´s" in time," Steve started, "you´re constantly exhausted and falling asleep, you´re treating patients while you´re obviously high - don´t you dare deny it!" he added threateningly as Jesse opened his mouth in protest. "And then you get beaten up! How does that look for you?"
"Like you´re jumping to conclusions," Jesse replied coldly. He couldn´t believe his friends were accusing him of taking drugs. Anger and pain mixed in his already desperate state, and he felt himself slowly lose control. "Like you´re not trusting me. I really thought I could rely on you, but I was obviously wrong."
With that he turned to leave, but was stopped by Steve grabbing his arm. "Wait."
"Let me go!" Jesse snapped and jerked his arm free. It sent him a few steps stumbling backwards, and he shot a furious gaze at the lieutenant.
"You don´t go anywhere till we got some answers!" Steve growled, stepping nearer to the smaller man again.
"Oh, what you wanna do, beat them outta me?! I´m handling this my way, Steve, and there´s nothing you can do about it!"
"Oh no?! How about calling my colleagues from drug squad? You really think I let my best friend go down the ..."
"I´m not on drugs!" Jesse yelled frustratedly. "I can´t tell you the truth, but you gotta trust me on this!" He´d lowered his voice to a normal volume and added a single "Please."
Steve looked at him hard. Finally he said: "I can´t."
Mark and Amanda exchanged a worried look as they saw all color drain from Jesse´s face.
"What?" the young man whispered.
"I can´t trust you on this, Jess," Steve repeated calmly. "You didn´t act very trustworthy lately. I don´t know if I believe you. You lied."
Jesse´s gaze never left Steve´s as he now approached the cop, swallowing dryly. He´d risked his life. He´d been beaten up. In order to help Steve. To ease the pain that was torturing him. And now this man, who he considered his best friend, who was like a brother to him, told him he didn´t trust him.
"You wanna know the truth?" he asked quietly, staring right into Steve´s eyes. "Carlie wasn´t killed. She commited suicide." He listened to the echo of his own words, shocked at what he´d just said. But now it was too late. "Yes, Steve, she commited suicide, because she killed her father."
Time seemed to stand still. Silence grabbed hold of everyone. Mark and Amanda hold their breath, unable to understand the words they´d just heard.
Steve looked as if he´d been shot. "How ..." was the only thing he managed to whisper.
"I can´t tell you," Jesse replied softly. Now that he´d said it, he regretted it deeply. The pain in his friend´s eyes was unbearable. "But it´s the truth. I´m sorry, Steve."
"No," Steve suddenly said, looking back at his father, then at Jesse again, who could feel something terrible going on and stumbled back a step.
"St-Steve ..." he said calmingly.
"Carlie didn´t do that," Steve said as if it was a statement. "She´d never have done that. You hear me?!" he was yelling by now and grabbed the smaller man by his collar. "How dare you?!"
Jesse thought about begging for a second, but decided against it. Without trying to free himself, he looked into the lieutenant´s eyes again. "It´s the truth, Steve."
"You´re lying!" Steve growled and before his father or Amanda could prevent him from it, hit the younger man across the face hard. The force sent Jesse flying to the opposite wall, where he slid to the ground in an untidy heap, unconscious.
"Steve!" Mark called out, but his son just stared at the still form of his friend, realizing what he´d just done. Without another word he practically fled the room.
His father stared after him for a moment, then turned to crouch down next to Amanda, who had turned Jesse gently over to his side. A large bruise was quickly forming on his jaw in addition to his previous ones.
Sighing, Mark ran a hand over his eyes. "What´s happening to you?" he asked the unconscious young man, but didn´t receive an answer.
So what is happening to Jesse and the others? Or rather what will happen to them? Answers are to come soon ...
Thanks everyone for the reviews! Don´t worry, the nerds have been sent home for good.
And as to Pinky-Kid - *wnuddel* - no electric shocks in here (What a shame, huh? What are fences there for?! Grin!), but peeking under scrubs just for you. Let´s discuss the technique later ... By the way: New caaaaaaaaaaaapter!!!! "I owe you that" vor!!! Check it out, alla you who haven´t, yet. It´s a must-read
Disclaimers still the same.
Enjoy!
Noise. There was definitely some noise going on around him, dragging him out of the blessfull darkness. A soft moan it was, he mused, but was interrupted in his lines of thought by his own need to verbalize his state.
"Ow!"
Along with the sudden light, which crawled through his still closed lids into his very skin, where it started to itch and throb, came a dull pain in his head. It felt as though someone had left a brick on his skull, and now it had somehow slipped inside. Lifting a very shaky hand to the back of his head, Jesse found a large bump there and winced as he probed it carefully.
"Ow."
Only now he slowly opened his eyes, but squeezed them shut again instantly. It wasn´t only the uninvited brightness that hurt, but also the - though somewhat blurred, yet unmistakable - sight of his surroundings. Next to an ashccan he lay, his feet were soaked by now after having layed in something wet for so long, and he could feel the cold of the hard concrete crawl into his body, cramping a skinny, freezing hand in his stomach. Carefully he lifted his cheek off the ground, and even managed to move so much as to sit upright, leaning against the wall for support. His breath came out in harsh, short gasps of pain by then, due not only to the increasing pain in his head, but also the stabbing sensation in his ribs and stomach.
Remembering what had happened to those, he slowly let his gaze wander down to his damaged shirt, not really wanting to look underneath it, but knowing he had to. He was pretty sure none of the pains that swept though his whole upper body were caused by a broken, but only by bruised ribs, yet he couldn´t trust his judgement right now.
So after drawing in a few more steadying breaths, he reached out to lift his shirt, grimacing as the whole damage that had been done to the poor textile revealed itself to him. It was torn at more than one place and had a few red strains on it, where his blood had soaked through the material.
What a shame he was alone, he mused. Now of all times he could have made the "Aww, that was my favourite shirt!"-comment. But as no one would have heard it, he didn´t waste the breath for it and continued his task, yelping out softly when he accidentally brushed his left hand.
It was swollen almost anywhere it could, and though none of the fingers were broken, they were severely bruised, the range of colors covering everything available, from sickly green to angry red.
Wincing as he gingerly cradled it next to his shoulder, he continued to open his shirt with his good hand. The sight that greeted him down on his chest and abdomen was commented by a sharp gasp.
"Oh great!"
Just from the bare look of the muttled bruises and red spots he could feel the pain he had to expect. Reluctantly, he touched his skin, flinching from his own touch.
"Ow! Double-ow!!!"
The ows became even more once he brought himself to continue his exermination. Fortunately his first diagnosis had been right, there was nothing broken or cracked. Still, when he was done, he could feel a slight shade of sweat dry on his forehead from the pain. Leaning his head back against the wall, he was about to just close his eyes again, to blend out the dull throbbing in his head, the hot pain in his ribs and most of all the by now increasing sensation of aching tightness in his left hand. The skin on it became drawn due to the swelling, and it hurt considerably.
He was almost asleep again, when he suddenly noticed that the moaning he´d heard for some time by now wasn´t produced by himself. Opening his eyes in surprise, he looked around the alley for the first time since he´d woken up. Now that he was looking for it, it didn´t take him long to spot the other figure huddled against the opposite wall, not far away from where he lay.
Frowning, he bent a little forward. "Hey?" he asked softly. It hurt him to speak, so he wasn´t very pleased when he got no response from the other man.
"Hey, you okay?" he tried again, feeling his doctor-mode kicking in slowly, but surely. Using his good hand, he tried to steady himself at the wall and crawled to his feet.
Once more the stranger failed to answer. Jesse could see him move slightly, though. The first step towards the obviously injured man sent a wave of pain through his sore ribcage, and gasping in pain, he almost lost his balance. For a brief moment he closed his eyes and just concentrated on his breathing, then he once again placed one foot in front of the other, so that he reached the fallen figure eventually.
"It´s okay," he assured his patient gently, before he touched his shoulder carefully. "I´m a doctor. Just lay ... still," he finished, shocked when he saw the face of the man. Raymond Liotta´s boyish features were contorted in pain, his chocolate eyes, though half-open, didn´t seem to see a thing, but looked inwards at the pain he was in.
His slender figure moved slightly, as if he tried to flee his own body which had become a prison of torture to him. Beads of sweat ran down his forehead, though he felt alarmingly cold to the touch.
Now remembering that it had been Liotta´s gun wound that had brought him into this mess in the first place, Jesse quickly checked the man´s shoulder, trying to rouse him during the examination, but without success.
The bullet had gone straight through Liotta´s shoulder, dried blood sticked to his shirt and jacket. It looked serious, but not life-threatening. Looking further, Jesse inadvertently brushed against the man´s side, earning a loud moan for that. Frowning, the doctor carefully shoved the jacket aside. The textile on the inside felt damp, and now that he had a good look at Liotta´s left side, Jesse knew why. Liotta´s shirt was blood-soaked, his whole side seemed to have turned into a sea of blood.
"Mr. Liotta," Jesse tried to announce the man, while he opened the remains of the shirt in order to get a better look at the wound. There was no answer except for some groans due to the pain the doctor was causing with his hands softly probing the injured area.
"Raymond," Jesse said a little louder, when he saw that his patient´s eyes had closed, but it was of no use.
Sighing, the young doctor decided to let it be for the moment and concentrated on the problem at hand. Checking the injury, he found that the bullet hadn´t left the body.
"Crabs!" Jesse murmured. Running a bloodied hand through his hair, he desperately tried to figure out what to do, which proved to be difficult with his own head still swimming in pain.
At last he decided that there was no way he could leave the injured man alone in the alley while he got help, for he would most certainly be too slow in his momentary condition. That bullet needed to come out now. The only solution was to get Liotta into the practice and remove it there.
And there was the next problem, Jesse thought frustratedly. He couldn´t possibly carry the man inside, not with his ribs feeling the way they did and his hand turning from blue to green in a visible speed. Besides, Liotta was twice his size and weight. There was no one in the practice who could have helped him, either, Jesse found as he checked his watch desperately. His shift wouldn´t be over for another two hours.
Looking at Liotta, who´d become very still by now, Jesse finally sighed deeply and gently slapped the man´s cheeks in order to rouse him.
"Hey!" he called. "Wake up! Ray! You gotta wake up now! C´mon!"
It took him a lot more of yelling and slapping, but finally Liotta´s lids were lifted agonisingly slowly, revealing glazed brown pupils. Unable to focus, he stared at the doctor confusedly.
"Yeah!" Jesse encouraged him. "That´s the way, good. Can you hear me?"
Cracking his eyes open just a little more, Liotta nodded weakly. He made a weary attempt at asking where he was, but found his tongue was too heavy for this simple task.
"You´re in the alley next to Dr. Donahue´s practice," Jesse explained clearly. "You´ve been shot. We´ve to get you inside so that I can help you."
At the questioning glance he received, Jesse added: "I´m Dr. Jesse Travis, I work for you. D´you recognize me?"
Liotta shook his head ever so slightly.
"I´m a doctor," Jesse repeated. "I´m gonna help you. But you´ve to help me here, too. D´you think you can stand?"
Liotta nodded and tried to push himself off the ground, but cried out in pain almost instantly and fell back onto his back. Shaking his head, he closed his eyes once more.
"This wasn´t exactly a question," Jesse said and grabbed the man´s good arm. "If you wanna live, you´ll give it another try. C´mon."
Though confused and in pain, Liotta understood the doctor´s words, and so he lifted his upper body off the ground once more, wincing at the slight movement. Jesse placed a steadying hand on Liotta´s back, and together they managed to get to their feet, both swaying slightly, but ready to go.
It took them a little while to reach and enter the practice; by the time they were finally inside, Jesse was panting heavily. Liotta was only semi-conscious, when he was led to the operating room and gently layed on the stretcher there. His eyes were once more closed and his breathing shallow. His color of face matched the walls.
Wiping the sweat from his face, Jesse sagged against the door of the room for a short moment. His vision was blurred, and he found it hard to draw in breath against the hot pain radiating from his chest and abdomen. But he couldn´t allow his weaknes to get the better part of him now. A patient needed him.
Ignoring the pain as best as he could, he pushed himself off the wall and crossed the room to the stretcher. Liotta had lost consciousness again. After removing the man´s shirt and jacket, the doctor once more checked the wound. Fortunately the bullet didn´t stick in the flesh very deeply, but still Liotta had lost an alarming amount of blood. There was no telling if he´d survive the removal.
At least he had approbiate instruments, Jesse thought thankfully, and turned to prepare for the procedure. When he was ready and about to start the sedation, Liotta´s eyes flickered open.
"Wh-who´s there?" he whispered horasely.
"Jesse Travis," Jesse answered. "I found you outside the practice. You have a shot wound to your left side, and the bullet´s still inside. I´ve to remove it."
"Jesse Travis," Liotta said, frowning. "You´re the new kid."
"That´s right. But I really have to ..."
"Y-you´re any good?" the man asked through gritted teeth.
"I let you be the judge of that," Jesse replied gently. "And now jus..."
"Am I ... gonna make it?"
"Sure," Jesse answered quickly and smiled.
"Kid," Liotta said firmly, before Jesse could say any more, "don´t take me for a fool! Am I gon..." A sharp gasp of pain interrupted his question.
"You have a good chance of surviving," Jesse said honestly, "if you let me start now. So ..."
"I ... I´ve to tell you some...something," Liotta insisted. He´d closed his eyes against the burning sensation in his side. Sweat ran down his face.
Jesse frowned at the demand, but he was too much doctor to let his curiosity take over in a situation like this. "You can tell me lat..."
"No!" his patient yelled. He looked more a boy than ever, all the cruelty seemed to have been washed away by the pain. "No," he repeated almost beggingly. "I´ve to tell someone. I can´t die without ... anyone ... knowing ..."
"You´re not gonna die," Jesse assured, but saw that it was of no use to try to convince the man of letting him start now. Obviously something was bothering Liotta, something so horrible he couldn´t bear the thought of dying without confessing it to someone. And what could that dark secret be, but murder, Jesse mused with a mixture of anger and fear.
Surprised, he noticed he was afraid of Liotta admitting Carlie´s murder to him. There he was, the faithful doctor, Mark Sloan´s protégé, supposed to safe the man who´d murdered an innocent woman, brought pain to his best friend, who was responsible for hundreds of illegal operations, who´d ruined an uncountable number of lifes and futures.
Yet, at the moment, he was Jesse´s patient. A wounded man in the need of help the younger man was bound to give. But the moment he admitted the murders ... How could he safe him now, Jesse thought desperately. How could he let him live when Carlie had had to die?
"Relax, I´m gonna sedate you now," Jesse said tonelessly, but was stopped by a weak hand feebly grabbing his damaged one. He flinched from the pain and whirled to face Liotta. Surprised, he saw tears in the older man´s eyes.
"No, doc, please, I ..." He sighed deeply, if out of pain or emotion, Jesse couldn´t tell. "I am responsible for a murder and a suicide."
Silence. Absolute silence hit the room. Jesse felt numb all of a sudden, all feeling had left his body. "Sui...suicide?" he repeated in a mere whisper.
"She ... she was my girl-friend," Liotta continued. He hadn´t noticed the doctor´s dismay, but was lost in painfull memories. "We ... wanted to marry, but ... Her mother died. A few years ago. Shot. She was told it had been a robbery, a junky," he laughed softly, "but I ... I knew the truth."
He made a short pause in order to regain some strength. Sad eyes scanned an imaginary spot on the wall behind Jesse, were the past lay. "Her mother had betrayed her father. I-it was shotly before we opend this practice, her father and ... and me. I ... knew him pretty good. She´d stolen his money for this other guy, her mother," he continued, sounding almost as if surprised, as if realizing just now what had happened back then. "Stole from him. Betrayed him. Wh-when he found out ..."
Jesse´s eyes widened as another pause occured. Steve never had mentioned Carlie´s mother. But then it never had seemed important.
A single tear cascaded Liotta´s cheek as he went on: "He killed her. R-right there, in their house. Shot her. A-and," he said with bright eyes, a humorless grin spreading over his lips, "he let the girl find the body. That bastard." Glancing at the doctor for the first time since he´d started telling, Liotta weakly wiped away the strains of tears on his face. "I never told her," he said ernestly. "She shouldn´t know, I figured. B-but ... Oh god." He drew in a calming breath.
Jesse wondered if it was wise to let him continue. The speaking was taking strength from the body, which it didn´t have to give. Yet, he needed to know what had happened. Impatiently, he kept on listening.
"W-we broke up then. I left town. But I never ... never stopped loving ..." Once more Liotta´s gaze had drifted off to a place unseen by the doctor. As the memories revealed themselfes, though, he was drawn back to reality and cleared his throat horasely. "When I returned I heard she had someone new."
The statemant was given ice-coldly. The doctor didn´t even try to hide his dismay, Liotta didn´t notice it, anyway.
"I got angry. Naturally I got angry. And so I ..." His voice failed him, his gaze fell in remorse.
"You told her," Jesse said slowly. "You told her that her father had shot her mother. And Carlie ..."
"Why did I do it?" Liotta asked the air. His eyes seemed to have lost their color. Jesse could have sworn he saw wrinkles built in the soft flesh beneath them. A broken man lay before him, now closing his eyes, if out of exhaustion, pain or resignation, the doctor couldn´t tell.
Nevertheless, he had to know for sure. "She killed her father? - Raymond!" Forgetting about the urgency of the medical procedure he was about to perform, Jesse ruttled his patient roughly, causing him to wince in pain. He didn´t care. "Hey! You gotta tell me! Did ..."
"What have I done?" the anguished man whispered. Jesse felt his hands flinch away, when he spoke. The numbness from earlier had left his body by now, his heart was racing. He felt as if he´d taken another one of Donahue´s pills. His aching ribs tightened his lungs, and he could hear himself pant.
Liotta´s eyes had opened again. A glassy gaze was put upon the doctor. Strains of tears dried on the boyish cheeks. "Help me, doc," he whispered desperately, then closed his eyes again.
Jesse stared at him in dismay. He opened his mouth to utter some assuring words, but none came to his mind. His gaze wandered down to the syringe in his hands, and pushing every other thought aside, he started his task of saving Raymond Liotta´s life. There was nohing more he could do.
Dr. Donahue´s cheery whistling echoed through the rooms of his practice. He took off his coat, checked his office for calls, and then turned to the rooms of the unreal world, those two he felt he wasn´t actually having anything to do with. Raymond´s rooms.
And Raymond it was who he spotted now that he´d opened the first door. A small gasp of shock escaped his lips, when he saw his old friend lay on the bed in recovery, his chest and shoulder heavily bandaged, his color of face matching his pillow.
Next to him, on a chair, sat the small form of the new kid, Donahue had forgotten his name. He was sound asleep, too, and stepping closer, Donahue could now see that the kid could use some bandaging himself. He had a nasty gash right above his left eye, blood had dried on his young features, and the way he hold his arm protectively over his ribs was enough for any doctor to assume that there were more nasty-looking things under his torn and bloodied shirt, too.
"What the hell ..." the older man muttered in dismay. He quickly checked his friend´s vital signs and sighed in relief when he found him just asleep, not unconscious. He then turned to the young man in the chair and reached out to ruttle him gently.
The moment his fingers had touched the younger man´s shoulder, blue confused eyes snapped open and in a paniced attempt to get away from the hand touching him, he fell off the chair, groaning loudly when his already sore ribs connected with the ground.
Donahue had drawn his hands away fastly. "Easy, kiddo!" he said quickly, raising his hands as if to show he wasn´t armed. "`sjust me."
Jesse stared at him in confusion, before his gaze wandered over to the sleeping figure on the bed. Remembering where he was now, he slowly came to his feet, wincing at the protests of his ribs and head. A shaky hand was lifted to rub his eyes, and Jesse frowned, when he felt the shade of dampness on his face.
"You´re bleeding," Donahue filled him in, noticing the doctor´s startled surprise at the discovery. "Why don´t you sit down again and tell me what the hell happened, while I take a look at you, hm?"
A simple nod was all he got for a response. Sitting down in the chair again, Jesse suddenly yelped and drew his left hand to his chest, covering it with the other one.
"What´s wrong with your hand?" Donahue asked. "Here, let me see."
Reluctantly, Jesse outstretched his hand, revealing the by now deep black bruise that spread over the whole of his knuckles and most of his fingers. The older doctor winced in sympathy.
"What happened?"
"Someone stepped on it," Jesse replied casually. "D´you checked on him?" he added with a nod to Liotta.
"Yes, he´s sleeping. Wha..."
"He got shot," Jesse explained. "Twice. I had to remove a bullet from his side, but I think he´ll make it. You sure he´s conscious?"
Nodding assuringly, Donahue asked further: "Shot by whom? And who worked you over like that?!"
"Dunno. Few guys. I think it were three. I don´t know," he repeated at Donahue´s unsatisfied look. "I saw them when I arrived. Outside. They´d already shot him in the shoulder, and I tried to ..." He had to stop suddenly, when a wave of pain shot through his head. Moaning, he lifted his hand to his eyes to squeeze them shut.
"Maybe you should lay down, too," Donahue suggested. "You probably have a concussion."
"No," Jesse objected softly. "No, I ... I´ve to return to work. What time is it, anyway?"
"Half past seven."
"Oh crabs," the younger doctor sighed and stood, swaying slightly. "Gotta go. You keep a look on him?"
"Yeah, sure, but - hey," Donahue grabbed his arm gently, but still caused pain by touching a bruised area. He didn´t notice the younger man´s wince, though. "Kid, wait. You need some proper attention here. I think those ribs of yours should better be taped or stuff. And this," he added pointing at Jesse´s forehead, "definitely needs some stitching."
"No, I´m fine really," Jesse said as convincing as a run-over rabbit. "Just give me a Band-Aid for it, `kay?"
Raising his hands to show he was giving up (After all, what did he care?) Donahue smiled friendly and turned to bring a Band-Aid, suggesting casually: "Still, it might be better if you washed the blood off your face, doc. You don´t want your patients run away screaming, do you?"
At Jesse´s questioning look, he pointed towards the sink. "C´mon. You look like Dougie Howser met Freddy Krueger."
Stepping over to the sink, Jesse noticed for the first time that he was not only limping slightly, but also looking like he´d been beaten up in an alley, too.
"Great," he muttered under his breath, while he carefully splashed water into his sore face. "Just great."
What was he going to tell Mark? He had to come up with something. Something good, like ...
"Surfing accident."
"Surfing accident?" the nurse at the registration repeated with a wince of sympathy. "Ow. What d´you do, lie face down on the board?"
"Something like that," he smiled and continued his way down the hall. So far so good. He´d only met three people at this time, and only one of them had asked about his battered face. His injured hand he kept hidden in his coat-pockets, which hurt considerably, for he had to clench his hurting fingers that way. He just hoped he didn´t meet one of the Sloans or Amanda today. He surely didn´t feel up to face their worried and most certainly doubting expressions just now. Tomorrow, after a few hours of sleep, lying would be so much easier.
But Murphy´s Law didn´t let him off the hook.
"Jess!"
Acually flinching at the sudden call behind his back, the young doctor froze in mid-step, cursing his slowness, Mark´s ability to appear in situations when he was less wanted to appear, and his body panicing at the task which lay before him. Drawing in a deep breath as to brace him for the unbracable, he turned slowly, managing to smile wryly, while his friends - Oh great, Mark AND Steve! Could things possibly go any better?! - approached him with concern quickly reaching their eyes.
"Wow, whatever happened to you?" Steve asked, shocked, once they were standing next to him.
Okay, here we go, Jesse thought dryly. "Sur... Ahm, surfing accident." Kicking his butt inwardly, he fought the urge to squeeze his eyes shut in frustration. And the winner is ... someone else, a nasty voice in his head informed him.
"Surfing accident," Mark repeated. He could have said "You´re lying." straight to his face, without having to change the tone of his voice.
Still, Jesse wasn´t going to give up. Not yet. "Yeah. I ... uh ..."
"Fell off the board?" Steve suggested in the same tone his father had used.
Feeling even smaller than usual, Jesse forced himself to look up to the two Sloans towering above him. "No, a wave hit me, and then my board was thrown ..."
"Since when d´you go surfing in the evening?" Steve interrupted him impatiently. He obviously wasn´t up to believe whatever was told him today.
"Ahm, I just ... The waves were just that great today, so I couldn´t resist. And I really gotta see a patient now," he added without taking a breath between the sentences. Raising both of his hands to a feeble, nervous gesture, he stated: "I´m already very late. So if you´ll excuse me."
With that he turned.
"That´s quite a bruise you have on your hand there," Mark´s voice hold him back, though.
"Yeah, I ... uh ... I ... squashed my finger in a door. Not my day, huh? Well, see ya!" Having spotted the lift doors opening at the end of the hall, Jesse broke into a sprint. As he smiled unconvincingly assuringly at his friends, the doors closed, covering the image of him sagging against the wall wearily.
Steve and Mark stood where Jesse had left them, staring at the lift. Finally, Steve opened his mouth, but was stopped from saying anything, by his father´s hand quickly raising in front of him.
"Don´t. Say it," Mark ordered firmly. "Just don´t." Without waiting for his son´s reaction, he continued his way.
"Whatever you say, dad," Steve mumbled and followed him.
"What am I gonna do? What am I gonna DO?!"
Pacing the men´s room in the sixth floor, where most certainly no cop would suddenly burst into and force him to admit he was in deep trouble this time, Jesse repeated the question over and over again, as if waiting for the sinks to come up with a solution eventually.
"What am I gonna do?!"
Should he - COULD he - tell Steve the truth? He had to tell Leer. Liotta was innocent. Of course what with Jesse´s inside-information about the practice and all, the man would go down for dealing with human organs, but he was no murderer. Actually, he was just a poor bastard, whose life was ruined by guilt and remorse. Jesse couldn´t help feeling sympathy for him, even after all he´d seen in the practice.
Yet - he couln´t tell Steve, could he? What would the lieutenant do, if he knew it? The image of Steve´s face at "Bob´s" the night Jesse had told him about Carlie, swept through the doctor´s mind. Could he really bear to see it once more? Could he bear to bring pain to his friend again? Pain that would last, that would ...
Stopping in mid-step, Jesse suddenly found he didn´t even know how Steve was doing. It had been - how long since he last took a good look at him? He couldn´t remember. He´d been so involved in the undercover-thing that he hadn´t had the time to really pay attention, to really look.
"Oh damnit!" he cursed, hitting his fist against his right palm. The sound of his yelp fading in the room reminded him of not doing that for quite some time. Gently rubbing his sore knuckles, he sighed. What a mess this was! How could he ever get out of it again? Leer´s fault, he decided. It was all Leer´s fault. If he hadn´t convinced Jesse to join this stupid assignment, none of this ever would haver happened. He´d been there to actually help Steve instead of hiding behind the false idea of helping. What had he gotten out of the whole thing, anyway?! Bruised ribs and a concussion.
Leaning heavily against the wall, he closed his eyes. The pain in his ribs had increased over the pacing, and by now he found it hard to breathe. His head still hurt, too, as if someone knocked against the inside of his brain. Probably his bad conscience, he mused.
Only semi-aware he noticed himself sliding down to the ground slowly, till he sat against the wall. From there it only was a matter of time till he sank to one side, asleep before his head touched the ground.
"At least admit you don´t believe him," Steve said firmly, while following Mark out of the lift. The total silence he´d experienced in there had left him sort of unnerved, till he was on the edge of yelling at his innocent father out of the need to yell at someone.
"Steve," Mark replied dryly, "what sort of a question is that?!" He, too, felt frustrated and therefore cranky, but regretted his harsh tone the second he´d used it. "Sorry. Of course I don´t believe him. Something´s going on here, and I don´t think it´s about waves."
"Neither do I," Steve nodded and frowned when looking around as if for the first time. "What are we doing here, by the way?" He´d been so wrapped up with concern an unfocused anger, that he´d just followed his dad wherever he would lead him.
"Trying to get some answers," Mark answered and opened the door to the men´s room, sighing deeply at the expected sight in there. At the far end of a wall Jesse lay on the ground, curled to a ball like he always was when asleep. His injured hand lay outstretched next to his body as if placed out of the way to not get hurt further. Even in sleep his features were drawn to a painfilled grimace.
Coming to a halt beside his father, Steve watched his small friend in dismay. Following Mark´s example, he sighed deeply, then looked at his dad to ask: "How did you know that?"
"You can´t get any farer away from the ER," was the sad reply.
"Or from us," Steve added.
Not answering to that, Mark crossed the space to the sleeping doctor and crouched down beside him.
Listening to Jesse´s breathing for a moment, he frowned slightly, and then carefully as not to rouse the young man, shoved the blue scrubs upwards a little, revealing a large black bruise, which melted into another one reaching up his chest even more. Mark couldn´t help let out a small gasp of shock when he saw the angry red spots in the discolored flesh. When he reached out to ever so gently touch the hurt ribcage, Jesse moaned softly and flinched away from the hand slightly.
"Dad?" Steve asked from where he was still standing.
"Come over here, son," Mark ordered quietly, and shifted his position for Steve to see Jesse´s chest, when he stopped next to his father.
"Dad, please tell me we´re not peeking under Jesse´s scrubs," the lieutenant joked half-heartedly.
Grimacing, Mark looked up at Steve, who winced at what he saw. "Be aware of surfboards, they might kick you."
"Oh god, what´s going on here?!"
"I don´t know, Steve, but this," Mark said and pointed at the younger man´s ribcage, "definitely has the form of a boot rather than a board. And that," he added, letting go off Jesse´s shirt and turning to his outstretched hand on the ground, "too."
As if to underline his words, he stood, raising a foot to let it hover above the bruise on Jesse´s hand.
"Someone beat him up," Steve stated. "But who? And why?" As a short pause occured, he frowned at his father, who still looked at the sleeping young man on the ground. "D´you think it has something to do with drugs?"
"Maybe. But all I know for sure is that he´s in deep trouble this time. And I´m tired of being lied at," he added firmly.
Steve cast his father a sympathetic glance. He knew how much Mark cared for his young protégé. Normally Jesse would turn to him without hesitation when he was in trouble. Steve couldn´t recall Jesse ever having lied to one of them, they were like his family. The thought that he was hiding something from them, something that left him beaten to a heap on the floor of the men´s room, seemed almost absurd.
"Shall we wake him?" he finally asked, but Mark shook his head.
"No, he would only get mad at us."
"Then what shall we do? - We are going to do something, right?"
"Course. But we´ll wait for the right moment," Mark replied.
"And when that will be?"
"You´ll see."
"What do you have to do in this place to be served?!"
"Stop yelling like an idiot, for example," Jesse muttered under his breath, while he hurried to place the dirty dishes he was carrying somewhere out of the way to the grumpy customer, who was sitting there for five minutes now. "Sorry, sir," Jesse apologized as convincingly as he could with the burning sensation in his ribcage and lungs. "So what can I do for you?"
"Hurry up would be nice," the man commented. "I didn´t inted to spent the whole day here."
"I´m glad to hear that," Jesse replied dryly and froze when he noticed he´d said out loud what had been supposed to be a mere thought.
"Hey, listen, kid," the man growled, "there are other places like this, `kay? I dont have to ..."
"No, right, you don´t. And you know what? My head hurts, and so does my hand, and actually I´m not really up to jumping at some fruitcake´s orders today, so why don´t you take your f..."
"Is there a problem here?" he was suddenly interrupted by a quiet, casual voice behind him and turned to face Detective Grady Leer eyeing him with awe.
"No, detective," Jesse replied cooly. "Everything´s shiny here. This gentleman just wanted to leave. Right?" he asked the man.
"You bet!" the customer stated furiously. "And don´t count on me ever coming here again!"
"Sorry to hear that," Jesse murmured while watching the man rushing out of the restaurant. Then he turned to cross the floor to the bar, from where he still had to remove the dirty dishes.
"Well?" Leer asked, sitting down at the bar. "What´s the urgency? - Jesse," he said when receiving no answer, but the sight of Jesse´s back turned to him, as the doctor brought away the dishes. "Hey! You wanted to see me, so ..."
"And you wanted to hurry up!" Jesse interrupted him harshly as he turned back to the bar. "I called you hours ago!"
Actually he´d called Leer after having waken up shivering and aching all over in the men´s room. Though he was more than greatfull that obviously nobody in the hospital had noticed his little nap at so unapprobiate a place, the feeling of desperation had increased inside him ever since. Now that his pain had decreased to a dull ever-present throbbing and numbness, he could pay all his attention to the problem at hand. A decision had to be made.
He decided to blame Leer.
But the detective hadn´t been in the precinct anymore that late in the night, so Jesse had repeated the call the next morning, before his shift at "Bob´s" had started. Three hours had gone by since then.
"I did!" the detective defended himself. "But I can´t just leave everything at every call of yours. I´ve a job to do, y´know."
"Oh? I thought I was doing your job."
A short pause occured. Leer narrowed his eyes and placed his chin on his palm. "What happened to your face?"
"Liotta didn´t kill Carlie Vitense," Jesse replied instead of an answer.
Leer remained silent, just continued to look at the younger man.
"But you know that already," Jesse continued "don´t you? You knew it all along." His voice had risen a little due to the anger he felt at the man, but he quickly regained his self-control.
"Yes," Leer said.
"Yes?! That all?! Just yes?! I risked my life for ... What do you want from the man? Huh? What is it you really wanna frame him for?"
"I never would have gotten the permission for the undercover go, if Liotta´s file hadn´t had "murder" on the cover!" Leer explained agitatedly. "And you saw what they do in this practice, they ..."
"You told Steve Liotta killed Carlie! You know what it will do to him to find out about her suicide?! About her murder?! God, I can´t believe I did this!"
"I didn´t inted to tell Steve," Leer said casually.
The doctor froze in motion. "He´ll read about the trial, and then he´ll know."
"Why?"
"Because ... No. No! Y-you don´t. Grady, this man didn´t kill anyone! He wouldn´t be my vote for president and I sure as hell hope he goes to jail for what he did to those people, but he´s no murderer! I won´t let you sent someone to the stuhl who´s innocent."
"Really?!" Leer asked with an amused smile spreading rapidly on his lips. "And what´re you gonna do about it?"
Jesse stared at the man in disbelief. "Are you nuts?! You´re planning to accuse an innocent man of murder! D´you really think I´ll just sit back and let you do that? I know the truth, and I will tell it!"
"Yeah," Leer shrugged. "You do that. And who do you figure will believe you? Huh?"
Slowly, but surely, Jesse felt himself lose his ground. Eyeing the detective suspiciously, he asked: "W-why wouldn´t they believe me?"
Leer laughed lowly. "Jess, c´mon. Believe you? An addict who worked for Liotta for what now, two weeks?" He chuckled slightly, while placing his chin in both palms now. "Would you believe you? After you lied to your friends? D´you really think Sloan hasn´t noticed anything, yet? Oh Jess," he added with another short laugh and stood to leave, "you´ll continue this thing till I say it´s over, an you´ll tell the judge whatever I want you to say or you will go down all the way with your boss."
Jesse couldn´t believe what he was hearing. His whole body had gone numb. Staring at Leer in utter shock, he shook his head slowly. "I won´t do it."
"That´s what you said last time," Leer grinned. " `sides, you really wanna be the one to tell Sloan?"
"Why are you doing this? What did Liotta do to you?"
Leer looked at him silently for a few moments, than grinned wryly, lifting a hand to wink. "Consider yourself still a member of the team, Dr. Travis. I´ll call you."
Jesse looked after the detective as the door fell closed behind him.
"Oh god, what have I gotten myself into?!" he muttered desperately, covering his face with his hands.
"Who was that?" Mark asked as Steve put away his cell phone and entered the Doctor´s Lounge again after having stepped outside for the call.
"Grady Leer," Steve answered, a grim expression on his face. "Liotta´s been shot yesterday. He´s at Donahue´s practice at the moment, so the investigations will have to stop for some time now. Damn!" he muttered frustratedly, as he sank down on the sofa next to Amanda who reached out to comfortingly stroke his arm.
"Who´s Donahue?" Mark asked. "I think I know that name."
"He´s the doctor who owns the practice they do their ... operations in," Steve replied disgustedly. "Of course he hasn´t reported the gun wound, but Leer´s guy informed him. This will make things take a whole lot longer."
"I´m sorry, Steve," Amanda said gently. "I know how much this investigation means to you. D´you regret it that you´re not on the case?"
"No," Steve winked. "Grady´s a good cop, and it´s not his fault the guy got shot. It´s just that ..."
He stopped in mid-sentence when he suddenly noticed the small form of his best friend leave the lift and head straight for the Lounge, where he´d spotted his friends.
"Hey!" he greeted them a little out of breath. "I gotta talk to you."
Exchanging looks with his son, Mark rouse to his feet, closing the door behind Jesse. "That´s good, ´cause we need to talk to you, too," he said ernestly.
Jesse felt his features freeze to a shocked expression. "What?" he asked in a chocked whisper. "Wh-what d´you mean?"
"Surfing accident?" Mark asked, reaching out for Jesse´s injured hand.
Though he flinched at the sudden touch, the young doctor remained calm. "You´re right, I lied at you, I was ..."
"We know," Steve interrupted him firmly. "We saw your other injuries last night. In the men´s room."
Jesse´s eyes grew wide at the revelation. A dreadfull feeling formed a tight knot in his throat. "Really?" he asked dryly. "Wow, you should think your friends wouldn´t let you spent the night on the floor, huh?"
"We know about the drugs, too," Mark said, letting go off Jesse´s hand to take a few steps backwards, so that he was standing next to Steve and Amanda now.
Looking at the wall of stern looks in front of him, Jesse narrowed his eyes. "What´s this supposed to be? An interrogation? What d´you guys want from me?!"
"The truth," Steve replied.
Casting him a long look, Jesse smiled humorlessly. "Believe me, you don´t want the thruth."
Frowning at the unexpected answer, Steve opened his mouth, but was interrupted by Amanda, who said in the gentliest of her voices: "Jesse, we´re just worried about you."
"Yes," Mark agreed. "We only want to help you. We´re your friends."
"I know!" Jesse shot back desperately. Bowing his head, he searched for the right words. "But it´s not that easy. It´s ... I can´t ..."
"Damnit, Jess!" Steve yelled at him all of a sudden. Jesse´s head snapped up surprisedly. "Cut out this crab! Just tell us what´s going on with you! I only recently lost someone close to me, if you remember, and I´m not that eager to have this experience repeated, `kay?! You understand? So what is it?! Is it about drugs?"
A small frown built on Jesse´s forehead, crawled over it and settled in his eyes. "Y-you think I ..."
"All of a sudden you´re too busy to show up at "Bob´s" in time," Steve started, "you´re constantly exhausted and falling asleep, you´re treating patients while you´re obviously high - don´t you dare deny it!" he added threateningly as Jesse opened his mouth in protest. "And then you get beaten up! How does that look for you?"
"Like you´re jumping to conclusions," Jesse replied coldly. He couldn´t believe his friends were accusing him of taking drugs. Anger and pain mixed in his already desperate state, and he felt himself slowly lose control. "Like you´re not trusting me. I really thought I could rely on you, but I was obviously wrong."
With that he turned to leave, but was stopped by Steve grabbing his arm. "Wait."
"Let me go!" Jesse snapped and jerked his arm free. It sent him a few steps stumbling backwards, and he shot a furious gaze at the lieutenant.
"You don´t go anywhere till we got some answers!" Steve growled, stepping nearer to the smaller man again.
"Oh, what you wanna do, beat them outta me?! I´m handling this my way, Steve, and there´s nothing you can do about it!"
"Oh no?! How about calling my colleagues from drug squad? You really think I let my best friend go down the ..."
"I´m not on drugs!" Jesse yelled frustratedly. "I can´t tell you the truth, but you gotta trust me on this!" He´d lowered his voice to a normal volume and added a single "Please."
Steve looked at him hard. Finally he said: "I can´t."
Mark and Amanda exchanged a worried look as they saw all color drain from Jesse´s face.
"What?" the young man whispered.
"I can´t trust you on this, Jess," Steve repeated calmly. "You didn´t act very trustworthy lately. I don´t know if I believe you. You lied."
Jesse´s gaze never left Steve´s as he now approached the cop, swallowing dryly. He´d risked his life. He´d been beaten up. In order to help Steve. To ease the pain that was torturing him. And now this man, who he considered his best friend, who was like a brother to him, told him he didn´t trust him.
"You wanna know the truth?" he asked quietly, staring right into Steve´s eyes. "Carlie wasn´t killed. She commited suicide." He listened to the echo of his own words, shocked at what he´d just said. But now it was too late. "Yes, Steve, she commited suicide, because she killed her father."
Time seemed to stand still. Silence grabbed hold of everyone. Mark and Amanda hold their breath, unable to understand the words they´d just heard.
Steve looked as if he´d been shot. "How ..." was the only thing he managed to whisper.
"I can´t tell you," Jesse replied softly. Now that he´d said it, he regretted it deeply. The pain in his friend´s eyes was unbearable. "But it´s the truth. I´m sorry, Steve."
"No," Steve suddenly said, looking back at his father, then at Jesse again, who could feel something terrible going on and stumbled back a step.
"St-Steve ..." he said calmingly.
"Carlie didn´t do that," Steve said as if it was a statement. "She´d never have done that. You hear me?!" he was yelling by now and grabbed the smaller man by his collar. "How dare you?!"
Jesse thought about begging for a second, but decided against it. Without trying to free himself, he looked into the lieutenant´s eyes again. "It´s the truth, Steve."
"You´re lying!" Steve growled and before his father or Amanda could prevent him from it, hit the younger man across the face hard. The force sent Jesse flying to the opposite wall, where he slid to the ground in an untidy heap, unconscious.
"Steve!" Mark called out, but his son just stared at the still form of his friend, realizing what he´d just done. Without another word he practically fled the room.
His father stared after him for a moment, then turned to crouch down next to Amanda, who had turned Jesse gently over to his side. A large bruise was quickly forming on his jaw in addition to his previous ones.
Sighing, Mark ran a hand over his eyes. "What´s happening to you?" he asked the unconscious young man, but didn´t receive an answer.
So what is happening to Jesse and the others? Or rather what will happen to them? Answers are to come soon ...