Disclaimer: All still apply.
SOMETHING TO PROVE
(PART FOURTEEN)
"...and used ice to numb her face before hitting her." The fury was clearly evident in Mark's voice as he explained what he had learned to his son.
Mark was still absolutely livid. It was beyond his ability to understand how someone could deliberately hurt a member of their own family, even if that person had been a willing participant, as Melissa obviously had been.
The two of them were sitting by Jesse's bedside, talking quietly, although they knew that, even had they shouted at one another, they would not have disturbed their young friend.
"What about the cuts on her arm?" Steve asked. "The ones that brought her here in the first place."
"Apparently they were genuine," Mark answered, clearly unhappy. "She fell into the side of the conservatory and broke one of the panes of glass with her arm. It wasn't until she saw Jesse that she had the idea to try again what had worked so well in Delaware."
"It was all Melissa's idea?"
"Yes, she just happened to come across the kindest, most compassionate doctor in this entire hospital. The one that would fall for her plan all too easily. Jesse..."
He was interrupted by a soft tap at the door and Amanda poked her head in. She smiled tiredly at them as she entered the room.
"How's he doing?"
Mark sighed heavily and let his gaze drift to his injured friend.
"Not good," he admitted, reluctantly. "He's had another scan and there's no swelling, no sign of any injury to the brain and his wound is healing nicely. There's no reason why he shouldn't show some sign of improvement."
"Yes there is, Mark." Amanda rested her hand over Jesse's, looking at him with infinite compassion. "He's still trying to run away from us."
"What else can we do?" Steve snapped, angry and frustrated at feeling so helpless. "We've talked to him, we've begged him to wake up. How do we get through to him?"
"We just keep on trying," Amanda answered, fiercely. "We make him listen. He has to understand that we're here for him, that none of this was his fault..."
"Actually," Mark interrupted, sounding thoughtful. "Steve and I were just discussing exactly what happened. We know the truth now and maybe it would help Jesse, if he knew it too."
"The truth?" the young pathologist echoed. "You mean, who was hurting Melissa?"
Mark looked at her gravely and the anger that had constantly bubbled beneath the surface of his outwardly calm countenance, since this whole sordid mess had begun, flared in his eyes.
"It was Rebecca."
"Her sister!" Amanda suddenly realised the volume of her response and shot an involuntary, apologetic look towards the figure on the bed. He hadn't stirred.
Talking as much to Jesse as he did to Amanda, Mark told her everything that he knew.
*****
Melissa, for saying that she was only fourteen years old, was a greedy and manipulative child. She had seen kindness in Mick Donovan, when he'd tried to draw her out of herself, convinced that she was a victim of bullying. In fact, there had been an incident, but it had been a one-off. Melissa had handled it herself, standing up to the would-be bullies and so had never been targeted by them again.
At the time, there was a compensation craze sweeping across America. Law-suits were filed every day and ridiculous amounts of money were being claimed and awarded. Eric Flynn, in particular, had always resented this and often griped to his daughters that he would never find himself in a position to sue someone else for thousands of dollars.
According to him, it just wasn't fair. He still had to work for a living, whereas the right set of circumstances could put the whole family on easy street.
And so Melissa began to formulate her plan. She well remembered the kindness that Mr. Donovan had shown her when he'd thought that she was in trouble, so she set out to utilise that kindness. It was ridiculously easy. She would turn up at his classroom door, looking dishevelled, or even only upset, and he would try to convince her that she could trust him.
They spent many hours talking over her completely fabricated woes, hours during which they were usually alone. And then Melissa began to keep a diary.
Things had snowballed rapidly from there, much as they had at Community General, but the school had quickly decided to give in to the family's demands. The Flynn's were awarded tens of thousands of dollars, in an out of court settlement and Mick Donovan had lost his job.
The rest, as the saying went, was history. Melissa, upon hurting her arm, had stumbled upon another opportunity to make some money, in the form of a kind, compassionate young doctor called Jesse Travis.
*****
"And she didn't mind her sister beating up on her?" Amanda sounded incredulous.
"On the contrary, she insisted on it," Mark answered, still not quite able to believe the lengths that family had been prepared to go to. "She knew that she needed to be physically injured in order to get close to Jesse."
"But still, even numbed by ice, it must have hurt her."
"It was all about money, Amanda, and you know that some people will do just about anything for money. And they won't care about who they hurt along the way."
They sat in silence for a moment, regarding their young friend. He had still showed no sign of regaining consciousness, no indication that he had even heard what they said.
Steve had said nothing throughout his father's explanation. Inside, he was slowly tearing himself apart. Don't let him down again. The very last words he had spoken to Jesse, apart from his abortive attempt to tell him about Mick Donovan. Don't let him down again.
But he had let Jesse down in the worst possible way. If he had only got there just a few minutes earlier...
Angry, frustrated and wanting to hurt someone, the way that Jesse had been hurt, Steve abruptly stood up. His chair scraped noisily across the linoleum floor and he stormed towards the door. Mark intercepted him before he even had the chance to open it.
"You can't desert him now," he said softly.
"I'm not deserting him," Steve hissed angrily in response. "I just don't see how sitting on our hands is going to make any difference."
"So what do you propose to do?"
"I'm going... I..." Steve trailed off, as he realised that he actually had no plan, nor even a destination in mind. "I don't know," he concluded, lamely. "Anything other than just sit here, waiting for him to die."
"He is not going to die," Mark interjected, sharply. Then, seeing the disbelieving look on his son's face, sought some way to convince him. "You remember when he caught that smallpox virus? Or how about when he went missing for five days and was then forcibly drugged, to try and convince everyone he was crazy? He survived all of that, Steve. And he'll survive this. He's tougher than he looks, you know."
"He'd have to be," Steve answered, casting a fond, yet wistful look at the silent figure on the bed. "He always manages to get into so much trouble..."
"Mark, Steve." Amanda's voice held a note of pleading and they both looked at her in concern.
The young pathologist was still holding Jesse's hand, but her eyes were on the two of them.
"Do you really think that's going to help him?" she asked, her anger apparent in spite of her low voice. "Reminders of his brushes with death? Do you think that's what he needs right now?"
The two men looked at her apologetically, as they realised how loud their voices had become during their altercation.
"Of course, you're right," Mark answered softly. He moved back to his seat at the side of Jesse's bed, almost overwhelmingly relieved when Steve followed suit. "We should try and concentrate on the good times. And there have been enough of those over the years, haven't there?"
*****
So they talked. Individually, in pairs, or all together, they constantly reminded Jesse of all the wonderful times they had shared.
Twenty-four hours dragged by. During that time, Jesse was never alone except when his own needs had demanded some privacy. And he never gave even the slightest sign that he was aware of anything that any of them said.
Mark, Steve and Amanda talked themselves hoarse, often repeating their light-hearted tales, as they strove to focus only on the good things that had happened to them. It was hard. So many of their jokes, so much of the laughter, was deeply entwined with the harsh realities of the lives they led, the professions they were each dedicated to. But they were determined that, so long as Jesse had a breath in his body, they would do whatever it took to make him well again.
Eventually, though, all three were forced to concede that their latest efforts were proving equally as unsuccessful as anything else they'd tried.
Mark waited until both Steve and Amanda had rested and they, once again, sat together at their dear friend's bedside. They had ran out of jokes and anecdotes and were beginning to run out of hope. Mark had only one thing left to try.
"You know," he said, sadly. "I never truly realised just how deeply he must have been hurting, just how depressed he had actually become. It's as though his feeling of betrayal has penetrated deep into his subconscious and that's why he won't listen to us now. My God, he must have been feeling it right down in his very soul."
"So what do we do?" Steve asked, gruffly. He had never allowed any more tears to fall, after the time his father had seen him weeping in the ICU and his voice was thick with the weight of them.
"We have to convince him that he's wrong. That we do trust him and would stand, have stood, by him, no matter what."
"But how, Mark?" Amanda, in contrast to Steve, could not contain her tears. It was destroying her to see her lively, energetic friend - her brother, in all but blood - lying there so close to death. "What else can we do?"
"We can prove it to him."
*****
"Jess, do you remember when Eric Spindler was murdered?"
Amanda gasped aloud at the mention of the former doctor's name. Of course Jesse would remember, after all he had almost gone to prison for his murder.
"Mark, what are you doing?" she demanded, disbelievingly. "That was one of the worst moments of Jesse's life. I've never known him to be so scared as he was when I went to visit him in jail."
"Yes, he was scared," Mark agreed, sadly. "I think we all were. Jeri Murdico came so close to successfully framing him and getting away with murder. It was impossible not to be scared."
"I think I know where you're going with this, dad." Steve leaned forward over Jesse's bed and focussed intently on his young friend's face. "Do you remember it, Jess? When I had to arrest you, it was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. You know why? Because I knew that you were innocent."
"We never doubted you for a minute, Jesse," Mark added, also speaking directly to the comatose man. "It didn't matter how much evidence Jeri managed to stack against you. We never, ever considered even the possibility that you might be guilty."
"That's why we fought so hard for you, Jess." Amanda had realised what they were trying to do and added her own assurances. "I know it was Ben Matlock who got you off, but we were all there, honey. We were all at your apartment when he found the broken chair."
"We were looking for evidence, Jesse," Steve explained. "Evidence that would clear you, because we knew there had to be some. And there had to be some because we knew that you weren't guilty."
"Think about it, my friend." Mark stood and gently touched Jesse's cheek. "Please. Jeri had almost everybody convinced. Almost everybody. If she had framed anyone else, using that kind of evidence, then I think she would most probably have got away with it. Her mistake was in trying to pin it all on you, the one man that we knew would never be capable of doing such a thing."
"Are you hearing this, Jesse?" Amanda asked his motionless form. "Do you understand what we're saying here? Even in the face of that overwhelming evidence, we never doubted you. So why do you think that we're doubting you now?"
It was Steve who noticed it first. The tiniest flicker behind closed eyelids, the first sign of movement they had seen from Jesse since the accident.
"Dad!"
The eyelids flickered again and Mark leaned forward intently.
"That's it, son," he gently urged the young man. "Come back to us, Jess. Please, son. Come back to us."
Jesse's awakening was a slow and gradual affair. Continually encouraged by the voices of the three people that he held closest to his heart, he fought his way out of the darkness that had held him for so long.
Just a few minutes after Steve had noticed that first, almost imperceptible hint of movement, the young doctor's eyes cracked open. The first thing he saw was his three friends, all looking down at him, their expressions a mixture of relief and concern. He felt a smile touch his lips.
As he had slowly regained consciousness, he had heard much of what they'd had to say and wanted desperately to let them know how grateful he was. Grateful for them not giving up on him. For, once again, standing by him when he needed them the most. For simply being there.
And everything that he was feeling must have showed on his open, expressive face, because all three of them smiled warmly at him. It was Mark who voiced the sentiments they were all feeling.
"Welcome back, Jesse."
THE END.
Author's note: This really is the end, as I will no longer be posting my stories on this site. The childish behaviour of certain individuals here has left me thoroughly sickened. Yes, I am British and so have been particularly offended by some of the recent comments. I did consider leaving when those rantings first started to appear under the guise of chapters, but I wanted to finish this story out of respect for the readers whose opinions I genuinely care about. Now, however, I feel that I have no choice but to take my work elsewhere. I have been and continue to be grateful to everyone who has reviewed any of my stories. Guardian.
This story is dedicated to Eira and Sue. You girls know why.